End of the world Blanket

Ensconced in a cleft of rock, looking out over the deserted plains, you feel a strange joy. Eucalypsia, revelation revels. You are the observer, the perspective itself of what will beg left after you are gone. After all your peoples are gone.

You reflect on your greatest achievement, and recognize that this too… has the same feeling as accomplishing a great work of music. Having made it to here, yourbones Will be the hallmark, perhaps piled under snow or rock, pressed flat into the loam, and extracted many millions of years on by some other entity.

Or crushed, along with other sentient life, into a sludge, a boiling carbon mass condensing into the fuel source for ever burning fires.

But before then…. Coffee. Well - the closest equivalent one can have in such times. A mix of bitter aroma and chemical stimulants, a slug of scotch mined from deep within an underground transit terminal.

Was here ever more than senatorial pleasures? Why is there peace, only at the end of things, the hurly burly of life needs the terminus, the calling of the end.

Simple Man, by Skynrd plays

And then the portal opens.